


"soon you'll hear me knocking at your door"

by cjscullyjanewaygay (csiwholocked33), talkwordytome



Series: Spellman Sisters' Mortuary [7]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Caretaker Hilda Spellman, Common Cold, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hilda loves her big sister, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, Sick Zelda Spellman, Sickfic, Sister-Sister Relationship, Zelda Spellman Needs A Hug, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25434637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/csiwholocked33/pseuds/cjscullyjanewaygay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkwordytome/pseuds/talkwordytome
Summary: She wanted to be held by her lifelong companion, the person who’d seen her at her cruelest and weakest and then gone on loving her and nagging her just the same.In which Zelda is trying to be a good big sister and let Hilda have her life and her husband and her room of one’s own. But whatever is a witch to do when she comes down with a cold and the only person who can help is her Hildy?
Relationships: Dr. Cerberus/Hilda Spellman, Hilda Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Zelda Spellman/Marie LaFleur (referenced)
Series: Spellman Sisters' Mortuary [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744618
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	"soon you'll hear me knocking at your door"

**Author's Note:**

> Look. Y'all. There's a pandemic. The world is on fire. I'm stressed literally every waking moment and many sleeping ones. I just NEED some soft sickfic, okay? Hopefully at least a few people enjoy reading this as much as we enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Title comes from the song "You've Got a Friend" by Carole King! (specifically the version where she duets with James Taylor).

Shrill ringing roused Zelda Spellman from a nap she hadn’t intended to take. 

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her left wrist. Her neck was crooked at an awkward angle—the unfortunate consequence of falling asleep on the parlor chaise, as all Spellmans knew—and she gingerly rotated it from side to side. Something popped, and Zelda winced. Her throat was sore and her head ached. She sighed. She’d been fighting off the beginnings of a cold since she’d woken up that morning, and it appeared it had used her accidental nap as an opportunity to finally take hold.

The old black landline continued to ring. Zelda coughed, sniffled, and slowly pushed herself into a standing position. “I’m coming,” she grumbled, “if you could _wait_ a blessed moment.”

“Yes?” she snapped once she’d picked up the phone, only to promptly pull it away from her pounding head at her younger sister’s excited greeting. 

“Zelds! Hello!”

“There’s no need to _shriek_ , Hildegard,” Zelda sniffed. “It’s not 1918 anymore. I can hear you at your regular volume just fine. To what do I owe the distinct _pleasure_ of this call?” She hoped Hilda would blame the thickness in her voice on their landline’s notoriously dodgy connection.

“Good evening to you too, Zelda. I’ve just the tiniest favor that needs doing, if you’re not busy?”

Zelda rolled her eyes. “I was under the impression that no longer living under the same roof would minimize the amount of silly requests you made to me, sister.”

“And it has, surely!” Hilda said, and Zelda could hear the familiar giggle in her answer. “But this particular favor is, shall we say, _time-sensitive_.” 

“Oh, is it really?” 

“Mhm, very much so. I’ve been working on something of an—an antidote. You know, for Dr. Cee’s… erm… his….”

“His sex demon?” Zelda supplied. Of course she needed a more permanent fix for her new husband’s condition, now that they were permanently cohabiting. This was a fact of both of their lives, certainly, but Zelda preferred not to think about it whenever possible. The request would’ve stung on a good day, and today was decidedly not good.

“Ye- _es_ ,” Hilda said, “that.”

“Do stop blushing, Hilda. You’re a married woman now, for goddess’s sakes.”

“How could you even _possibly_ —I’m not blushing!” Hilda said defensively. “I can… _do_ something and not like _talking_ about it, you know. Anyway, he’s meant to take the draught on the first full moon of each month, and that’s of course tonight, but I’ve run out of agrimony, you see, and—”

“And you need me to bring you some from the herb garden here,” Zelda finished, closing her eyes. 

“Please, Zelds?” Hilda wheedled. “I’d come and get it myself but the brew is a _teensy_ bit volatile, and between you and me I don’t quite trust Dr. Cee to look after it properly.”

“I don’t trust Dr. Dracula to do _anything_ properly,” Zelda muttered. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Hildy, I’m really not sure I have the time; I’ve got a busy night ahead of me, and—”

“But the antidote loses its effectiveness when you miss a dose, love,” Hilda said, talking over Zelda, “and I’d hate for him to have to start all over. He’s only meant to have a few doses left.”

“And that’s very distressing for you two, I’m sure, but—”

“ _Zelda_ ,” Hilda said, and though she didn’t quite snap her tone was in that neighborhood. “Please. It won’t take you more than a few minutes to pop down the lane, and then you can get straight back to whatever business you have that’s apparently so _urgent_.”

Zelda attempted to answer but instead barely managed to turn into her shoulder to stifle a sneeze. Her sinuses throbbed. “So sorry,” she said, returning to the phone call. “Where were we?”

“Where’d you go?” Hilda asked. “Dodgy connection?”

“Must be,” Zelda said wearily.

“So will you do it?”

Zelda swallowed and winced at the stab of pain that followed. Satan, she felt dreadful. Really, all she wanted was to wrap up in a blanket and let Hilda fix her cinnamon toast and chamomile tea. Though she was loath to admit it, she missed living with Hilda. They still saw each other nearly every day, but it wasn’t the same. 

She couldn’t remember the last time they’d lived apart; it had been a century, at least. And with Sabrina and Ambrose busy with their own lives and out of the house more often than not, Zelda spent most of her time alone. She didn’t mind it—not usually; not much, anyway—but there was something about the thought of being by herself when she was ill that set off an anxious twinge behind her ribcage. She could call Marie, she supposed, but what would Marie think? She, a fully grown witch, incapable of caring for a sore throat and a runny nose? The very notion was humiliating.

“Zelds? You there?”

“I’m here,” Zelda confirmed, fighting back the urge to sniffle. “I’ll be by with your agrimony in about fifteen minutes.”

“Really?” Hilda squealed. “Oh, thank you, thank you, _thank you_ , Zelds, you’re an absolute lifesaver, love, really you are.”

“That may be so,” Zelda said dryly, “but you owe me, Hildegard.”

“Oh, Zelda. Don’t I always?”

* * *

A curt triple-knock announced Zelda’s arrival at the Cerberus-Spellman home.

Wiping her hands on her apron, Hilda hurried to the door and flung it open. “Zelds, my heroine!”

Zelda muttered something unintelligible and tried to hand over the satchel of herbs. Hilda, though, ignored this. Instead, she grabbed her sister’s arm and pulled her inside the little cottage before Zelda had a chance to resist. 

Zelda’s hair had been blown about during the walk, which on its face was nothing unusual in the perpetual windiness of Greendale, but Hilda noted with curiosity that she hadn’t fixed it as usual. She had dark circles under her eyes, too, and she was squinting in the brightly lit foyer as if it hurt her head.

“Stay a while, won’t you?” Hilda asked. “You look absolutely knackered, and Dr. Cee is going to start dinner in just a tick. We’ll even let you pick the movie we watch later. We haven’t had real time together in _ages_ , Zelds, and I miss my big sister.” She tugged at Zelda’s coat, but Zelda folded her arms tightly across her chest. 

“I actually have quite a bit to do at home,” Zelda said. Her voice was ever so slightly rougher than usual. 

“Zelds, are you alright?” Hilda brushed back the hair from her sister’s face, and in doing so noticed that Zelda’s nose was an irritated shade of pink, standing out against her pale cheeks.

“I am _fine_ ,” Zelda said, stepping out of Hilda’s reach. “I’ve some essays to grade and smudging to do, and moreover I—”

“Zelda, hen,” Hilda interrupted, “you know full well that I smudged the whole house just before I moved out.” She squinted at Zelda, who quickly averted her gaze towards Hilda’s feet. “And what papers could you _possibly_ have to grade on a Friday night in the middle of term?”

Zelda closed her eyes. “Hildy,” she said quietly, “can you _please_ take the hell-blessed agrimony and let me go on my way?”

“I could, but first I’d quite like to know why you’re avoiding looking at me.”

Zelda huffed, glaring directly at Hilda as if warning her not to pry any further. Having spent several centuries receiving this exact withering stare, Hilda was unmoved. She tilted her head to the side and closely examined Zelda. “Love,” she said softly, “have you come down with something? You’re awfully peaky.”

Zelda adamantly shook her head, even as she retrieved a handkerchief from the sleeve of her blouse and wiped delicately at her nose. “It’s fine,” Zelda said, her tone bordering on pleading. “It’s nothing. Really, Hilda, I’m a bit tired; I need tea and sleep. That’s all. Don’t fuss.”

Hilda pursed her lips. “I’ll fuss however much I want—” she began, voice tart, but before she could finish Dr. Cee walked into the room.

“Zelda—! Ah, I mean, Ms. Spellman,” he amended at Zelda’s scandalized look. “Hilda told me you were coming by. Won’t you stay for dinner? I was thinking I might make chicken and rice soup.”

Zelda’s face contorted into something halfway between an uncomfortable smile and a pained grimace. “I appreciate the offer,” she said stiffly, “but I am afraid I shall have to decline.”

Dr. Cee deflated slightly. “Oh,” he said, “well, another time then.”

“Zelda isn’t feeling very well,” Hilda said apologetically, then gave her sister a sideways glance. “Otherwise she’d love to stay, wouldn’t you, Zelds?”

Zelda managed to shoot Hilda a murderous glare just before her expression twisted. She bent into her handkerchief with a trio of sneezes. When she re-emerged she was colored with a distinctly embarrassed flush. 

“Bless you! I’m so sorry to hear that you’re sick,” Cee said. “Can I get you anything? Tea, maybe?”

Zelda’s blush deepened. “No,” she snapped, “you cannot.”

Hilda frowned at Zelda. Then, she walked over to Cee and kissed him on the cheek. “Darling,” she said, handing him the agrimony, “could you be a lamb and add this to the pot? Then stir six times counterclockwise and turn the heat down to low.”

Cee smiled and returned the kiss with interest, then disappeared into the kitchen. Hilda turned to Zelda and planted her hands on her hips. “He was just being nice,” she said sternly. “He couldn’t know it would embarrass you. He’s trying, Zelds.”

“As am I,” Zelda said, affronted. “I didn’t call him the wrong name once.”

Hilda rolled her eyes. “Yes, and well done you,” she said, though she promptly regretted her short-tempered sarcasm when Zelda turned into her elbow and coughed. 

Hilda frowned. “Oh, I don’t like the way that sounds,” she fretted. “You’re not well at all, are you?”

“It’s a cold, Hilda,” Zelda whispered, as if worried she’d be overheard. “Nothing more. I’ll make an echinacea and eucalyptus tincture and be over it in a few days.”

Hilda was unconvinced. “Are you sure?” she asked. “Do you have the right kinds of tea in the pantry? When was the last time you went grocery shopping? You’re terrible about eating when you’re under the weather. Actually, maybe I should come home with you, just to check on things.”

Zelda’s eyes widened. “No,” she said quickly, “no, please don’t. I—you have… plans. With your,” she wrinkled her nose, “husband.”

“I’d hardly call them _plans_ , Zelds,” Hilda said, bemused. “And Cee won’t mind. We can watch a movie on the couch any night of the week.”

Zelda, Hilda noted with alarm, looked suddenly near tears. “Please, Hildy,” Zelda said, “just…stay here. I can come by again when I’m feeling better and—and we can all have dinner then. But I have to go now.”

She rushed out the front door. Hilda followed her. “At least let Cee drive you!” she called. “It’s cold and getting dark; you’ll catch your death if you walk, if you haven’t caught it already.” 

But Zelda waved her off without turning around. Hilda watched, frowning, as Zelda disappeared down the drive and out of sight.

* * *

Zelda sat on the parlor chaise, huddled in a wretched heap. Her sinuses were so congested she could barely breathe. Even her ears felt blocked; the familiar sounds of the house had a foggy, watery quality to them. Not to mention they _hurt_ , especially when she swallowed, which she couldn’t stop doing. She suspected she might even have a temperature, but she didn’t feel like going through the bother of tracking down a thermometer. She had half a mind to fix herself some foxglove and sleep through the worst of it, but since the Caligari spell she’d found that she wasn't overly fond of altering her own consciousness. 

She flipped mindlessly through television channels, finding them all either too loud, too vapid, or both. She knew she’d done the right thing, letting Hilda and Cee have their night together, but the satisfaction of her selflessness only went so far to contradict her abject physical misery. Her mind briefly flitted again towards calling Marie. They had found themselves growing comfortably closer lately; it would be easy to reach out for some other reason and let Marie draw her own conclusions. She knew Marie wouldn’t mind, not even if she summoned the humility to explicitly ask for her help; indeed, Marie would probably even enjoy taking care of her. Still, something inside of Zelda revolted at the notion of displaying such naked vulnerability to a lover she’d known for just a matter of weeks.

No, the only person Zelda really wanted to see in her pathetic state was her sister. She wanted to fall asleep to the sounds of Hilda puttering in the kitchen and wake in the morning to the comforting aroma of peanut butter and banana oatmeal. She wanted to wear her flannel sick day pajamas—hand-me-ups from Hilda, incidentally—and not feel embarrassed that they were baggy and faded from decades of use. She wanted to be held by her lifelong companion, the person who’d seen her at her cruelest and weakest and then gone on loving her and nagging her just the same.

Zelda shivered. She burrowed deeper under her blankets and sneezed. Resigned to the fact that she wasn’t going to find a television program she especially enjoyed, she settled for the channel she was on. It was some insipid romance film that she knew Hilda and Sabrina enjoyed. Inexplicably, it appeared to take place aboard the Titanic. Zelda wasn’t able to fathom what could possibly be romantic about drowning or succumbing to hypothermia, but to each their own.

Zelda knew she should fix something for herself to eat, but she rationalized that it was too late now for dinner, and she wasn’t all that hungry anyway. As the movie went on she began drifting in and out of sleep, waking again and again to blow her nose and turn over so that she could breathe properly for just a few minutes. 

A soft knock on the front door startled her awake. Before she could react, a key was turning in the lock, and then the silhouette of her sister appeared in the doorway.

Zelda blinked at Hilda from the sofa, drowsy and confused. “You—you’re not supposed to be here,” she said.

Hilda snorted and shut the door behind her, already shedding her coat. “Why yes, thank you, I’d love to come in,” she said. “It’s wonderful to see you as well.”

Zelda stood and trailed after Hilda into the kitchen. “That’s not what I meant,” she said. “I’m happy you’re here, but you’re supposed to be at your own home, enjoying your evening with—with your… Dr. Cee.”

“Yes, but you’re ill,” Hilda said absently, unpacking tissues and satchels of tea leaves from her cable-knit tote. “So I came by to check on you.” She continued back into the parlor, pulling out a luxuriously plush fleece blanket and draping it over the back of the sofa.

Zelda stood in the doorway, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I said I was fine,” she said, blushing when the words came out sour and ungrateful.

Hilda either didn’t notice or—the more likely option—chose to ignore this. “Mmm, I know you did,” she said patiently, “several times. But the thing is, Zelds, I didn’t quite believe you.” She sat down on the chaise and patted the empty spot next to her.

Zelda reluctantly joined her, her mouth closed in a thin line. 

“How are you feeling, really, now that it’s just the two of us?” Hilda asked. She palmed Zelda’s forehead and cheeks, then tutted. “You’re running a fever, poor thing. No wonder you were so grouchy back at our house. You must be miserable.”

Zelda’s lower lip wobbled. “Like death warmed over,” she confessed. Her shoulders slumped as the words fell out; she was too tired to keep pretending. 

“Oh, Zelds.”

Hilda extended an arm and Zelda tucked herself beneath it. She curled her legs up on the chaise and lay her head on Hilda’s shoulder. Hilda threw the blanket over her and kissed the top of her head. “You, my love,” she said as she tucked the blankets around Zelda’s feet, “are going to stay right here, snug as a bug in a warm little rug. I’ll go make you some tea once you’re settled.”

“Can I have cinnamon toast, too?” Zelda asked, knowing that she sounded pitiful but unable to bring herself to care. “With the crusts cut off?”

“You can have all the cinnamon toast you want, pet,” Hilda soothed, rubbing Zelda’s leg through the mass of blankets. “What did you have for dinner?”

“Oh,” Zelda began, coughed, and realized she didn’t have the will to make something up. “Not much. Or… anything at all, to be more specific.”

“Zelda,” Hilda scolded, “in order for your body to heal properly you’ve got to eat. We can’t have you wasting away.”

“It wasn’t on purpose, Hildy. I was so exhausted, and I couldn’t find any of those horrible frozen dinners you left me—”

“You’re lucky I’m a little bit psychic,” Hilda interrupted, eager to distract Zelda even if it meant dredging up their centuries-long argument about whether or not she actually possessed an unusual sixth sense.

“Whatever do you mean?” Zelda snapped, but her voice cracked mid-sentence, making it sound significantly less forbidding. The series of coughs that followed nearly drowned out the knock at the front door.

“Who…?” Zelda gasped.

“That’ll be Dr. Cee,” Hilda said cheerfully, nudging Zelda off her lap.

Zelda scrambled into a sitting position and reflexively smoothed her hair. “What,” she hissed, “is he doing here?”

“He’s brought takeaway!” Hilda called over her shoulder as she moved towards the front door. “Chinese, including egg drop soup to soothe your poor little throat, per my request. I asked him to go and pick it up when I left to come here.”

“I suppose I will allow it, then,” Zelda said reluctantly, lying back down. Seconds later, she sat bolt upright again. “He’s not planning on staying long, is he?” she added anxiously.

“Only as long as you want me, Ms. Spellman,” Dr. Cee said, a laugh in his voice as he entered.

Zelda blanched.

“Hilda said you might need a little comfort food,” he continued unfazed, “preferably of the restaurant-cooked, soy-sauce-drenched variety, so here I am.”

“Oh… thank you,” Zelda managed. “It looks lovely.”

Hilda patted her sister on the head and bustled off towards the kitchen, presumably to plate the takeaway. Zelda and Cee remained in the parlor, silently looking in any direction but at each other. Cee stuck his hands deep in his pants pockets and rocked backwards on his heels. “So,” he said, “how are you, er, feeling?”

“Not very well,” Zelda said. “You should keep your distance. I fear I may be… contagious.”

“Ah, don’t worry about that,” Cee said. “I’ve got an excellent immune system.”

“As do I, usually,” Zelda said darkly. She blew her nose, effectively punctuating her point. “What could possibly be taking Hilda so long?”

Cee grinned. “I think,” he said, “she may be attempting to give us some time to get to know each other.”

Zelda rolled her eyes. “Of course she is,” she muttered. “I’m afraid I may not be the best company right now.”

“You’re sick,” Cee reassured. “It’s not your fault.” 

When Zelda glared at him, he laughed. “What,” Zelda said, haughty as she could be with a badly stuffy nose, “is so funny?”

“Nothing,” he said hurriedly, but when Zelda kept her glare firmly in place he continued. “You just… really don’t like it when people notice that you’re not your best.”

Zelda glowered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. 

“Everyone gets sick sometimes,” Cee said. “Even great and terrifying witches such as yourself, Ms. Spellman.”

Zelda pondered this. “Do you really think I’m terrifying?” she asked.

“Yes,” Cee said adamantly. “Despite Hilda’s many attempts to convince me otherwise.”

A smile, faint but genuine, bloomed on Zelda’s lips. “Good,” she said, “because I am.” She picked at her nails for a few moments. “You… may call me Zelda. For now. If you wish.” 

Cee’s eyes twinkled. “I’d like that very much, Zelda,” he said gently.

“I reserve the right to change my mind,” Zelda said hurriedly.

Before Cee had a chance to respond, Hilda reappeared in the parlor. She was carrying a tray laden down with bowls of soup and plates piled high with egg rolls, lo mein, and steamed dumplings. Zelda additionally spied two slices of cinnamon toast and a steaming mug of tea. She smiled.

“Here we are,” Hilda said, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “Get it while it’s hot.” She turned to Cee. “Are you going to stay, darling? Should I get you a plate as well?”

“I think I’m going to head home and leave you two to have a little sister time,” Cee said. He leaned over the back of the chaise and kissed Hilda’s cheek. “Enjoy the takeaway, and I hope you’re doing better very soon… Zelda.”

Zelda did not miss the surprised delight that flashed across Hilda’s face at Cee’s use of her first name. “Don’t be smug, Hildegard,” she said once they were alone again. “It doesn’t become you.”

“Who’s being smug?” Hilda asked. She pulled a grumbling Zelda into a one-armed hug. “You’re so much sweeter than you ever let people who aren’t me see.”

“If you tell _anyone_ ,” Zelda said, snuggling up to Hilda like she was a human-sized pillow, “I will have to kill you.”

Hilda sighed a laugh and handed Zelda her cinnamon toast. “Yes, Zelds,” she said between bites of egg roll, “I’m sure you will.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **talkwordytome** : I promise that I'm still working on astrarche! I haven't abandoned it. I've just been struggling with anxiety/depression/general motivation/creativity lately, and that's a fic that requires motivation and creativity in spades.
> 
> Take care of yourselves, friends, and please stay safe <3 <3 <3


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